


Sometimes A Lonely Way

by Lemonyfresh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Embarrassment, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:00:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonyfresh/pseuds/Lemonyfresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times that Greenberg was embarrassed in front of Coach Finstock through no fault of his own, and one time he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes A Lonely Way

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to Dira and the_afterlight for the beta work on this!

The first time Greenberg ever encountered Coach Finstock, it was in the third grade. It was lunchtime and a Thursday, the absolute best time to be a third grader in the lunchroom: pizza day. Little Greenberg loved that cafeteria pizza, even though it hardly resembled any sort of pizza you got at any other time (not even birthdays, not that he was often invited to any). It was soft, the crust doughy and pliable and it just squished in your mouth like eating a delicious pillow covered in pizza sauce and whatever it was pretending to be mozzarella. Greenberg didn't care that is was all cheap what-have-you that they served in the lunch lines. Every Thursday was culinary bliss to that little rosy-cheeked third grader.

Bolstered by the warm feeling of impending deliciousness, Greenberg did something he would never have dared on a Taco Tuesday or even a sloppy joes day. He broke all rules of the lunchroom, walked past the table Stilinski and McCall, and boldly sat down next to the queen bee of all third grade. Lydia Martin, the little redheaded darling with her perfect outfits and her perfect attitude and perfect friends. He thought she was just swell, and why shouldn't he just sit down with her? He even made himself comfortable, and opened up his little individual carton of milk with a happy smile.

Thankfully the horrified gasp hadn't echoed throughout the room, as most of the kids happily devoured their own faux-Italian cuisine and talked amongst their friends about anything other than school. But no, Lydia Martin had gasped, and stared right at Greenberg for a moment with a look of pure shock. Greenberg smiled at her, shyly, and was about to speak when something purely unexpected happened. With a quick motion, Lydia toppled Greenberg's milk carton from where it had been perched right on the edge of the lunch table. It splashed right into the front of his little jeans, soaking the front in exactly the most embarrassing way.

To top it off, she had also jumped to her feet and raised her hand, motioning to the substitute lunchroom monitor who was there today.

"Excuse me, Excuse me!" Lydia shouted. "Mr. Teacher, Greenberg peed his pants and won't clean it up!"

He didn't even have a chance to object. The man walked over and shook his head, not even noticing the drops of milk nearby that would have helped tell the real story.

"Come on, Greenberg, right? Aren't you a little old for this?" Coach Finstock said. Not that Greenberg even knew the man's name yet, even though his face was soon to take a starring role in almost all of his nightmares. "Go run to the nurse, I'll, uhhh, call for a janitor." 

Even as he heard the barely-stifled laugh from the unfamiliar adult, he looked squarely at the ground. Greenberg could feel every eye on him as he had to stand up and walk out, everyone having stopped their own little chats. Pizza Thursday was never quite the same, after that.

The second time Greenberg met Bobby Finstock came three years later, at the sixth grade egg drop contest. Greenberg always studied hard, and he did pretty well at practical assignments as well. But getting paired up with the son of the sheriff was proving to be a little more trouble than it was worth. Oh sure, Stiles was a great student, but he was also constantly getting distracted when they were supposed to have time after school to work on the project. Apparently Scott McCall was way more fun to hang out with, at least that was the message Greenberg was picking up. He'd even tried to get switched, so that Stiles and Scott could be partners and he'd get whoever Scott was working with... but apparently no one really wanted to be teamed up with Greenberg.

He wasn't put off by all of it, though. He worked hard, on his own, figuring out exactly what you could build that would be the lightest, safest way to drop that egg down from the top of Beacon Hills Middle School and win the whole contest. First prize was a scholarship to a science camp that summer, a place that no one would know about the time Lydia said Greenberg wet himself in the lunch room, or the time that he'd lost the class gerbil that had been entrusted to him for the weekend (which he still swore up and down had been stolen by wolves when he'd taken the gerbil for a walk in the forest). Science camp promised a week where he could finally be the cool kid.

Then came the day of the actual contest. Greenberg carefully transported the whole device – carefully wrapped paper, scotch tape, and a little parachute he'd made out of a grocery bag – with him on the bus; he even brought it up to the roof without one thing going wrong. But when it came time for his team to load the egg and drop it off the side of the building, his partner decided he needed to contribute and helpfully grabbed it by the wrong end, loaded the egg in entirely the wrong place, and dropped it upside-down off the building. Stiles laughed as it crashed spectacularly against the concrete sidewalk next to the school, Scott even laughing along with him. Greenberg leaned over the edge of the school in horror, right down at one of the helpful judges that had come over from the high school to help with the day.

"Aren't you that Greenberg kid?" Finstock said, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up. "What happened, you pee yourself before dropping it?"

He didn't get to go to science camp that summer.

The third time Greenberg met Bobby Finstock was the very next year. Beacon Hills Middle School didn't have a whole lot of great team sports, but they did have an intramural sports challenge every year. And with Coach Willard having had to take some time off after he'd contracted chicken pox (something that was getting blamed on Greenberg, as usual), it fell to the substitute coach from the high school to oversee the whole afternoon. Greenberg wasn't exactly great at sports, but he wasn't bad, either. In what little pride he could take in himself, he knew he had a shot when it came to the softball home run derby.

Of course, when he lined up behind Jackson Whittemore, he had his confidence shaken a little bit. It was like being on the back of a comic book, in one of those ads where there's the super jock that just kicks sand in the ninety-pound weakling's face while walking off with the girl. Not that Jackson was doing any literal sand kicking, but it was a pretty strong metaphorical one. He didn't even need an intramural medal. While Greenberg didn't exactly think winning a medal would finally put him in a position to be in the popular crowd, it'd at least be a nice moment where no one could really laugh at him. But now there was a chiseled monument of adolescent perfection standing in his way.

Then again, when Jackson cracked off the first ball with a hit so hard it flew into the windshield of a parked car across the field, Greenberg couldn't help but laugh. He just might have a chance at this after all. Then he suddenly felt the bat being pressed into his hands, and a solid shove had him out at home plate instead of Jackson, who casually leaned up against the chain link fencing as Finstock stomped over in a rage. He hadn't seen the actual responsible batter, and Greenberg knew that instant that the pitcher, the catcher, even the other kids in line were all Jackson's friends... or at least they would pretend to be when he was around. He was doomed.

"Are you kidding me, Greenberg?" Finstock yelled. "What, did you cork your bat or something? Cheating and breaking my window, that's it, you're out! And don't even think about going near my car to see your handiwork, I don't want it smelling like... like Greenberg!"

Needless to say, he didn't get an intramural medal that year. He didn't even try for one the next.

By the time he'd gotten to Beacon Hills High, Greenberg lost count on the run-ins he had with Coach Finstock. He was getting used to the taunts, the angry looks, the blatant bullying from this madman of a teacher. As long as he never had to take econ and he didn't stick out too much on the lacrosse team, it would be fine. He never could figure out how Finstock kept hearing about all his little blunders, the lost assignments, the wardrobe malfunctions, the unfortunate erections in gym class. Finstock always seemed to hear about everything, and he would never live any of it down.

Of course, the first time he'd had to partner with Scott McCall in chemistry was a day the chemistry teacher was out. Why anyone thought an Econ teacher was a good substitute for a chemistry teacher, he couldn't even fathom. He'd just get the lab assignment done and be over with it. He was doing meditation now, and a few deep breaths to center himself was all he needed before they mixed the volatile chemicals, finish the work, and he'd get out of there before anything bad happened.

Scott managed to drop and splash a beaker of something-or-other in the next minute and a half. Greenberg yelped, worried as his shoes had started to smoke and the rubber even seeming to melt a little. He scrambled to get his shoes off without even touching them, as Scott just stared uselessly and apologized profusely over and over. Finstock had put down his issue of Sports Illustrated (Swimsuit Edition) and walked over to see what the commotion was, and his face was visibly upset by the time he could see exactly who the culprits were. He was just about to go off on another tirade against poor Greenberg when he stopped and sniffed the air, a curious expression on his face.

Greenberg's heart sank, no amount of meditation was going to help him feel okay about this. Mysterious shoe-melting chemicals were scary, and, well... The warm, wet stain across the front of the jeans spoke for just how scared he'd been. Finstock laughed and shook his head, his anger defused just a bit.

"What is with you and peeing your pants, Greenberg?" he said. "Go to the nurse's office, I'll call for a janitor. Again." He laughed again, shaking his head. Greenberg tried to block everything out as he walked from the chemistry classroom, but he could still hear Coach Finstock as he said "What was even in that? That's seriously dangerous, why do we even have that in this class?" before the door closed behind him.

By Sophomore year, it was more memorable if something went wrong and Finstock wasn't there to make fun of him. Every so often, though, something good happened as well. It was a little weird to wander the halls of the high school during class time, but while Greenberg prided himself on being an excellent student, sometimes he had a better day if he just skipped a class and found an empty classroom where he could sit and be by himself. It was definitely weird after he'd heard about the janitor being killed, but it wasn't as if there was a chance that would happen again.

But that day, his little hunt for solitude was interrupted when he heard someone coming down the hall. Normally he'd just duck out of sight, as it was probably a teacher or someone taking a bathroom break from another class, but he could hear the crying and he stayed out to see what exactly was happening. It was Allison, the new girl, probably the only person in the entire school who didn't know exactly who he was and wasn't bound to just turn the other way if he stepped out to talk to them. It wasn't like he'd thought exactly about how she'd be perfect, the only girl who would give him a chance if he asked her on a date. He also knew that she was entirely out of his league. But she was crying, she was hurt, and it wasn't a time for idle and silly fantasies. He'd be nice, because people should be nice. Just because no one was ever really nice to him didn't mean he didn't know what was right and what was wrong.

He startled her a little when she ended up turning the corner and almost ran straight into him. She shied away, but he managed to be a bit disarming with his awkward and encouraging expression of sympathy. They talked, albeit Allison did much more of the talking than Greenberg. He offered to teach her to meditate, but she shook her head saying it wasn't for her. He did tell her about how he liked to go for runs when he didn't know what else to do or think, and he could tell she liked that idea. Then the bell for the end of the period had rung, and he'd never gotten to say his name or anything. She'd already thanked him and was hurrying off so that she could make her next class.

He didn't even think about the missed opportunity, letting her go like that. But for a moment, he imagined Coach Finstock patting him on the shoulder with a proud look on his face. "You did good, Greenberg," were the words that he'd only hear in his head.


End file.
